


Breakfast for Twelve

by IAmInTwelve



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Other, Short One Shot, Silly Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmInTwelve/pseuds/IAmInTwelve
Summary: When you are Twelve, ordering breakfast is not a straightforward matter :)





	Breakfast for Twelve

"Now _that_ is how you do it, old girl." The Doctor removed his sunglasses, kept them on a metal table and settled into an adjoining chair with a sigh. He waved his sonic screwdriver in the general direction of the awning and it tilted accordingly, offering shade from the blistering sun.

"Water, sir?" He was startled by a voice from behind him. He turned his head to the left, but could not see anyone standing behind. As he continued to look around, clearly puzzled, a glass of water materialized on his table, topped with some ice and a wedge of lemon.

"I am here, sir." The voice now came from the table itself. The Doctor donned his sunglasses and leaned forward, his sunglasses slipping forward a bit as he peeked over them. He scrutinized every inch of the table until he realized it was the salt-shaker that was speaking to him.

"Oh. Hello! Didn't realize you were there. How can I help you?"

The salt-shaker emitted a series of squeaks, as if it were trying to decipher the Doctor’s words.

“I do not understand.” It spoke in a robotic monotone with the barest hint of inflection. “I am here to serve you. What would you like to order?”

“Oh, sorry. Force of habit.” The Doctor put up his hands defensively and sat up a bit straighter. “Also, do not like ordering around. Quite embarrassing, really, ordering someone. Usually, you see, she drops me in the thick of it.” He motioned in the general direction of his TARDIS. “But this, this is my weekend off. I even got my favorite novel. See!”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a well-worn copy of a book. He hefted it in one hand, holding it like a brick. The hardbound cover was dark green with a golden embossing in the shape of a thumb sticking out, under which, in bold letters, was scrawled the phrase “Don’t panic!”

“Yeah," the Doctor spoke to the robotic interface." 'Don't panic' is not really my style, I agree. I am supposed to be Scottish, so maybe this should say ‘Sod off’ or something similar.”

“What would you like to order, sir?” The salt shaker seemed unimpressed.

The Doctor frowned, his bushy eyebrows converging on a look bordering disapproval. “I told you, I am not ordering anyone.”

“Then, would you like to order _something_ , sir?”

“What’s the difference?”

The robot emitted another round of squeaks.

“I mean, you order some _thing_ , or you order someone, it still amounts to ordering, doesn’t it? I think I am against ordering. May even lay down a rule against it – against ordering, I mean; not against being against it.”

“I am unable to respond to your request.” The robotic monotone had the slightest tinge of confusion. Thus it did what every artificially intelligent entity did in the face of an unanswerable question – it ignored the question and skipped ahead.

As it sat there, thinking about the next course of action, the Doctor opened up his book to a bookmarked location, and began reading. He obviously found the reading amusing, for every so often, he would chuckle and giggle, and even smile at himself.

“Aha!” he exclaimed on one particular occasion. “Why did I not think of this before?” He turned his attention to the robot. “You, Robo-salt! If you had to choose what would you bring along – a banana or a towel?”

Another round of confused squeaks followed.

“Come on, haven’t got all day, you know. A banana is always useful to switch out for a gun, more so when it is pointed at you. Come to think of it, I do get that a lot!” Another squeak, this time, with a splash of surprise. “But what are you going to do with the peel once you have eaten it off? Nothing, it is useless. With a towel, at least you can take a bath and wrap yourself in it, maybe use it as a pillow. Or an emergency parachute. A banana eaten is a banana spent.”

By now the robot decided that offense was probably the best line for its defense.

“Would you like to see what’s on the menu?”

“Why, what’s on it? Hate dirty menus. Went to a cafe in the Maldovar Market – the menus in the fish shop came out all sticky with algae. I thought they served fish. Turns out they did – only as customers. Never touched a menu since!”

The robot replied with an inquisitive series of beeps and squeaks.

“Oh no, never had a problem you see. Whenever I go into a restaurant, I always order the Chef’s Special. That way, you never have to see the menu!”

After a few moments if silence, the robot squiggled out another burst of squeaks. A compliment followed by a question.

“Oh thank you very much,” the Doctor replied, blushing. “I am certainly considered clever, if I say so myself. What do I usually eat, you are asking? Ah, I usually have a very simple breakfast -- go right for a pot of tea, with some pastries – scones, muffins, pies. Followed by a sandwich, something light mind you. And then, in most cases, I will have a couple of fried eggs, followed by eggs benny, and top it off with custard – preferably with fish fingers. And that’s just the breakfast mind you.”

“Would you like to have some tea?” the robotic voice asked with a renewed enthusiasm.

“Sure”, the Doctor beamed. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a one shot because I wanted to see Twelve in one of his more funnier moods. It is supposed to be silly :) Let me know what you think ...


End file.
